


The Thing About Kisses

by Fancifullauren



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Jehan and Courf have a kid, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, and Cuteness, and cuddles, and kisses, and she's adorable, this is literally pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:08:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fancifullauren/pseuds/Fancifullauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan and Courfeyrac take their five-year-old daughter, Marie-Josée, to the fair.  Cue domestic fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thing About Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a one-word anonymous prompt: "Balloon."

It was a beautiful day in Bretagne. The leaves were starting to grow in from a long, tough winter, the sun was actually shining, and Jean Prouvaire wore a genuinely delighted smile to accompany his pink floral shirt and overalls. Clutching his index finger was Marie-Josée, a carbon copy of the poet in every aspect but physical appearance. She, too, sported overalls and a grin, but her shirt was a bright yellow to contrast the darkness of her skin. While the older Prouvaire’s long auburn waves went past his shoulders, little Marie-Jo had hers done up into twists by her father’s nimble fingers, despite the fact that Courfeyrac liked to tease that she looked like a _baobab_. Of course the Prouvaires would only see this as a compliment, the father-daughter duo being so fond of nature’s beauty. 

Jean’s graceful gait was also a charming contrast to Marie-Josée’s skipping along as she held fast to her father’s hand. In her other, she gripped a bright pink balloon. 

“Papa,” she would say, and she would have both her fathers’ full attentions, “I’m hungry.” And both men would stumble over themselves to find her something to eat, because hell if they would let their precious angel starve. The five-year-old did not quite know to take advantage of this boundless love they had for her, not yet at least. At this early age, she was just happy to be getting her needs met, and have the occasional balloon bought for her. 

They spent the entire day at the Puy du Fou, until the sun began to set on the horizon and Jehan complained of his feet hurting. Courfeyrac carried him on his back as he walked home hand-in-hand with their daughter. 

Courfeyrac smiled at the pair fondly once he opened the door to their apartment and his love jumped off of him. If Jean Prouvaire was the light of their home, and Marie-Josée the cause, Courfeyrac was the center. Both literally, as he took it upon himself to ensure the family’s safety and well-being, and figuratively; most weeknights, he would find himself on the loveseat with Marie-Jo jumping up into his lap and his lover curled around him, sneaking kisses to his cheek every few minutes. From there, he would tell her a story with enthusiastic suggestions from his little family, which usually succeeded in putting Jehan to sleep on his shoulder before the energetic child. She, though, would giggle endlessly at the little jokes he would slip in just so he could see her innocent smile. He couldn’t help but see Jean Prouvaire in her dark brown eyes every time they wrinkled around the edges in laughter. 

Marie-Jo reached up her tiny hands to nestle in her sleeping father’s locks. She worked a small piece into a braid, and then pulled it gently across his face so it looked like he had quite the unsightly moustache. Courfeyrac tried to bite back his laughter, he really did, but seeing his daughter snicker pushed him over the edge. He leaned in and brought the braid over his own upper lip, smelling the sweet smell of sunshine and shampoo, and pursed them so it would stay there while Marie-Jo’s face was overtaken by a look of pure merriment. 

“Mes pères, les moustachues,” She squeaked. 

Courfeyrac let the hair fall and leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. 

“It’s past your bedtime,” he whispered. 

“Can’t you continue le conte?” She pleaded with wide eyes. 

“It’s a school night,” he reasoned softly. 

“But I wanna know what happens to the llama princess!” She whined, pulling her best puppy face. 

“Oh, alright…” he contested, though not exactly perturbed by the idea of spending a few more minutes nestled in the loveseat. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jehan tsk-ed, making Courfeyrac jump. The man opened his eyes. “You’ve got school tomorrow, and if I get one more note from your teacher that you’re throwing gummy bears during naptime I’m going to have to stop sending them in your lunch.” 

Marie-Jo gasped. “You wouldn’t!” 

“Try me,” Prouvaire challenged, but his eyes showed amusement instead of determination. 

She sighed. “Yes, sir,” she muttered obediently before climbing off her father’s lap and scampering toward the bathroom. 

Courfeyrac twisted his head in order to capture Jehan’s lips in a soft kiss. “Throwing gummy bears?” He murmured with a smile. 

“She’s quite the aggressive child when it comes to her peers. You would know if you bothered to accompany her on playdates,” retorted Prouvaire. 

“I’m not comfortable with the word ‘date’ being associated with our daughter,” Courfeyrac replied, and Jehan’s face melted into an expression of calm happiness. 

“You’re gonna have to accept it sooner or later. Our beautiful Marie-Jo will be sure to attract boys who are into strong-headed girls with a mind for revolution.” 

“Enjolras is a terrible influence on her.” 

Jehan kissed Courfeyrac’s lips again. “Maybe so, but I’d rather that than have a pushover for a daughter.” Another kiss. “Any boy tries to take advantage of her and he’ll be running for the hills.” 

“Or girl.” 

“Yes, or girl,” said Jehan, slowly climbing onto his lap and tenderly kissing him. Courfeyrac’s arms pulled his lover even closer, their chests pressed up against each other’s and their mouths moving in tandem. When Prouvaire hummed contentedly out of his nose, the larger man brought one of his hands up to caress his lover’s face.

They didn’t stop when they heard a door open and a shrill scream. 

“Eeek! Dégueulasse!” 

And then the pitter-patter of small feet running into her bedroom. 

Courfeyrac felt Jehan smirk against his lips. “I should go tuck her in.”

“You go do that,” Courfeyrac replied as his husband climbed off of him and proceeded to walk down the hall. When Jehan slowly opened her door, Marie-Jo was already under the blankets and staring at her father. 

“Don’t kiss Papa like that, that’s gross,” she said. 

The older Prouvaire walked up to her and knelt by her bedside. “It’s not gross, silly goose.” He replied. 

“Yes it is. I’m never gonna kiss anyone. Not now, not never,” swore the determined girl with a scowl. 

“Vraiment?” Jehan mocked, a playful glint creeping into his green eyes. Before the girl knew what was happening, her father had pounced onto her bed and was covering her face in feather-light kisses. She squirmed beneath him, but couldn’t help but snicker. 

“Okay, okay, you win!” She conceded, and Jehan beamed down at her. He placed one last kiss onto her cheek before getting up and pulling the now-disheveled blankets back over her. “Je t’aime, Papa,” she said as he made his way over to the door. 

“Je t’aime, ma chérie,” he responded earnestly, flipping off the lights and closing the door behind him.


End file.
